


the world before me

by weatheredlaw



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: afoot and light-hearted, i take the open road(shall we stick by each other as long as we live?)or: quips and vignettes from the inquisitor!grog au





	1. here is a man tallied

**Author's Note:**

> i moved this to its own thing because i wanted to expand on it and play around in the universe. will feature more perc'ahlia than is probably recommended but _WHATEVER_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it was perhaps punishment that Grog was sent to the conclave. And at the start, it truly did seem like a curse to be named their Herald –
> 
> But it is something warm, something great and entirely different to be their Inquisitor, and for the first time, Grog has something of his own to claim, and is only happy to share the pride and love with everyone around him.

That Grog was even present at the Conclave was obviously some kind of punishment – his uncle had been chomping at the bit to rid their mercenary troop of his nephew, and the Divine’s Conclave had seemed like a perfect excuse to be clear of him for a short while, or at least long enough to travel far enough that Grog might not find his way back.

That he had become the Herald of a goddess he had no need of until only a few days ago was a sort of curse all its own.

 

* * *

 

Skyhold makes Grog feel…small. Vaulted ceilings and wide, open holes in the rooftop give him an unfamiliar chill, but he shakes it off. He has a firm enough grasp on all this, but one problem at a time is the best way for him to relax the sort of _buzzing_ in his brain that’s been there since all this happened. At his side, Pike glances around before putting an encouraging hand on his elbow – a move that takes almost all of her body to complete, but the small touch of warmth is welcome.

“We’re here to serve, Herald.”

“It is _Inquisitor_ , now.” Percy sweeps into the main hall, flipping through a few things and giving Grog a smile. “A good choice, I think.” He glances around. “It’s rather _damp_ here, don’t you think?”

“It’s been _snowing_ right into the place.” From his side, Grog feels the cool presence of Vax practically materialize. “But I’m sure you could move some gold about and get that fixed, yes?” He gives Percy a smile, but it is thin, expressing his distaste. “I think you’ll find there are many ways of solving a problem, Inquisitor.”

Grog grunts. He doesn’t _like_ solving problems, and he doesn’t like changing the way he usually _does_ solve them in the first place. “A sword in the face usually fixes things,” he says. His advisors all have varied reactions – only Pike smiles at this, gripping the hilt of her own blade in sympathy. “Right. You, uh. You can fix this, then?” He gestures toward the ceiling.

Percy sighs, falling into place next to him. “I can _certainly_ have the ceiling repaired, Inquisitor. Don’t think on it for another second.”

“Not to worry,” he says, and winks at Percy. “I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, as Grog prepares to lead a party into the Emerald Graves, Percy stops him in the hall and asks, “Are you pleased with the repairs to the roof, Inquisitor? We imported cedar from the North, and there are oaks lining—”

“The roof was broken?” Grog asks, turning his axe over in his hand, not even looking in Percy’s direction.

Percy smiles. “Not anymore, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

And however poorly Grog completes his more political duties as the Inquisitor – he is nothing but an inspiration to the troops.

They had been hesitant to follow a Qunari mercenary into battle, but Grog hadn’t even noticed their fear. Instead he’d walked right through it, and on the other side, he’d gained their trust. Pike admires it.

“You’ve truly won their hearts, Grog.”

“Have I?” He glances around, frowning, then grins. “I _did_ rip out that wyvern’s heart the other day. Did that do it?”

Pike nods. “It certainly may have! But they _trust_ you, is the more important thing.”

“Well they should,” he mutters. “We’re only…what did Scanlan say the other day?”

“‘Saving all the women of the world so they might have a chance to meet _me._ ’” She pauses. “Or Scanlan, rather.”

“Right. Then they’d best trust me, if they want to meet the women of the world before _Scanlan_ gets to them.” He laughs at his own joke, and throws an axe across the sparring ring at a practice dummy, situated inconveniently between two new recruits.

 

* * *

 

Of all his advisors though, Vax seems to enjoy Grog the most. And Grog, certainly, enjoys Vax.

They are not of the same mind about most things – Grog likes everyone to know he’s there, while Vax would certainly _not_. But there are times when even Grog gets the jump on their spy master, and what started as a friendly exchange of pranks back and forth becomes an all-out battle, much to the frustration of Percy.

He exits his office one day _covered_ in beetles, among a few less savory things. Grog tries to make himself as small as possible, which _doesn’t_ work, but he manages to somehow blame Vax for it. Percy can’t remember exactly _how_ he does it, and frankly, Grog can’t either – but Inquisitor and spy master develop a begrudging respect for one another, to the point where Vax finds himself defending Grog in the midst of the debacle at the Winter Palace, when a rather poorly proportioned Orlesian man declares the Qunari the daftest hero the world could ask for.

Come morning, when the dust has settled, Percy finds he doesn’t have to ask around _too_ much to find out who had all of the man’s furniture repurposed for kindling.

 

* * *

 

And through it all – Grog is still…Grog. He is good at fighting, and he is good at caring, and that’s all the men and women who serve under him can really ask for. He inspires when he needs to, a rumbling battle cry done right at the exact moment, or a sturdy hand placed on the right shoulder.

The anchor bothers him, and he says so, frequently – but it is more of a quiet, endearing complaint. Scanlan loots a nice leather glove which seems to please him, and Keyleth compliments the color, which makes him chuckle and grin, lift her up onto his shoulder. Tiberius studies it, and Grog is happy to watch as the mage flutters back and forth between book and parchment and Grog’s softly glowing hand.

Because it was perhaps punishment that Grog was sent to the conclave. And at the start, it truly did seem like a curse to be named their Herald –

But it is something warm, something _great_ and entirely different to be their Inquisitor, and for the first time, Grog has something of his own to claim, and is only happy to share the pride and love with everyone around him.

So long as they share the ale. That part is very important.


	2. danger zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vex’ahlia runs afoul of the Inquisition’s ambassador when her looting nearly gets her killed.

She had never seen quite such a beautiful chest. Deep mahogany, inlaid with gold and jewels. Her fingers had twitched at the sight of it. Tired and exhausted from their journey through the woods and a battle with a rather angry giant earlier in the morning, she’d opened it without really thinking.

She wakes up, staring at the darkening sky of the Emerald Graves, hearing the Inquisitor laughing at another of Scanlan’s jokes.

Keyleth’s face appears, mouth turned down in distress. “Vex?”

“Um.”

Scanlan trots over, hands on his hips and grinning at her. “Hey, Grog! She’s awake!”

Vex sits up in time to see their Inquisitor set down his axe and make his way toward her. He kneels down at eye level and looks her over. “Not dead, eh?”

“It would appear not.” She moves to straighten up completely, but the blood rushes from every which way and her head begins _pounding._ She cries out in pain, grabbing her temples. Keyleth rushes forward, putting her hands on either side of Vex’s head and murmuring before drawing back. The pain ebbs away, and her vision clears. “Thanks,” she pants, still winded from the pain.

“You need to be careful.”

“Was it the chest?”

“A trap,” Scanlan says, returning to his place by the fire. The soldiers at the camp give their party some space as Vex moves to join them. “Went off right in your face. You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

Vex groans. “ _Please_ don’t tell my brother.”

Scanlan snorts. “Like he doesn’t already know.”

 

* * *

 

They make their way back to Skyhold in the morning. Vex is feeling better than she’s felt in a while – drinking Keyleth’s rather bitter tasting tea had not been the worst decision, and it leaves her feeling clean all over. They reach the keep by noon, and Vex is pleased to see they’ve added a few more refugees to their collection, watching some of them joining the soldiers and others working on repairs. Despite the chaos they left behind that morning, it’s good to know they can create something resembling functionality right here, in their own little bubble.

She fully expect her brother to give her a stern lecture the moment they cross the threshold of the keep, but it isn’t Vax waiting angrily in the main hall –

It’s Percival.

Keyleth winces at his expression and says, “I’m just…gonna go check in with Pike.” She gives a weak wave to Percy as he crosses the hall toward them, brows furrowed, tips of his ears just a little pink.

“Do you have _any_ idea of the trouble you caused out there yesterday?”

Vex frowns. “Um—”

“You detonated a magical _bomb_ , nearly got yourself _and_ your entire party killed, and you don’t have anything to show for it.” He flips through some parchment on his board and looks between them. “You exploded a pivotal stash of supplies that could have been used to feed and arm these people flooding through the gates every day. You lost over _eight thousand_ gold pieces, and almost two thousand in weapons.”

Vex looks down at Scanlan sharply. He rubs the back of his neck. “We…avoided telling her that part, actually.”

“Wanted to soften the blow,” Grog says, then chuckles. “ _Blow._ ‘Cause you blew up, get it?”

“ _Hysterical_ ,” Percy snaps. He looks at Vex. “You’re cleverer than what you did out there yesterday.”

“It was a _mistake_ , ambassador.”

“So learn from it.” He turns on his heel. “And don’t let it happen again.”

 

* * *

 

Vex spends the next hour or so angry firing arrows into a tree just outside the keep. She knows she screwed up, she knows she should have checked the chest for traps, she _knows_ there were valuable supplies in that stash. There’s no point in humiliating her in front of the Inquisitor and Scanlan, no point in stringing her up for all of Skyhold to see. She lets loose her last arrow with an angry shout, startling some of her brother’s crows in the tree nearby.

“Are you imagining a certain ambassador’s face?” Vex jumps as her brother lands on the ground beside her. He moves toward the tree and deftly pulls out her arrows. “He was very cross when he found out.”

“And you?”

“Disappointed, but relieved you were alright.” He glances over his shoulder. “You know better, Vex’ahlia.”

She sighs, coming over to help him, refilling her quiver. “I know, _I know._ ”

“We can’t afford mistakes like that right now. This war needs our best people. _You_ are important.”

“I’m a piece of the puzzle,” she murmurs. “You can still put the whole thing together if you’re missing just one.”

A arrow snaps in her brother’s hand, broken clean in two. The other grips her arm, _hard._

“Don’t you _ever_ say that about yourself again. Do you understand?” She nods. “You are more than just a foot soldier. You are my _sister_ , and you matter to this Inquisition. Grog needs you. He can’t finish this without everyone’s help. No one can. We aren’t putting a puzzle together, sister. We’re building a tower. A bastion of _hope._ A tower doesn’t stand without every brick in place.”

“You sound like the ambassador.”

Vax smiles. “He’s an ass, but he’s clever. And he understands that we’re all needed.” His fingers rest under her chin as he kisses her forehead. “Especially you.”

 

* * *

 

Percy’s office door is always open, and Vex has never been inside of it without at least six different people. It takes a great deal of moving parts to coordinate purchases and negotiations, but this late at night, there is only the light of his lonely candle, the sound of a quill scratching against parchment. Vex knocks, hidden in the shadows just outside.

“Come in,” he calls, not looking up from his work. “If you need to request supplies, it’ll have to wait ‘til morning, I—” He finally sees her, and stops. “Vex’ahlia.”

“Percival.” She nods her head and he nods in return.

“Is there something I can do for you?” He sets the quill aside, leaning back in his chair and looking at her.

“I…wanted to talk with you. About what happened in the Graves yesterday.” He nods. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t…thinking straight. I was exhausted, the day had been long and I saw something I liked and I just—”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “Grog and Scanlan told me. I hadn’t been informed of the giant attack. Kima gave me her full report this afternoon, after I’d…acted a fool. I apologize for belittling you in front of the Inquisitor. It wasn’t professional.”

Vex shakes her head. “No, I _should_ have been more careful. I know better.”

“You do,” he agrees. “And you’ll know to be more careful in the future, I suppose.” He leans forward, fingers threaded together, chin resting atop his hands. “I also…well. Perhaps we should leave it there.”

Vex raises a brow and takes a seat in the chair in front of his desk. Percy chuckles. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Just exploding chests it would seem.”

 “Your one true weakness.” He sighs as she leans forward, elbow on his desk, chin in her hand. “I will confess that I…play a game of favorites. I’m not proud of it, and it’s not something I’d like everyone to know, but…” He looks at her. “I’m quite fond of you. When I heard you’d been injured, I was…upset. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It would be devastating for this Inquisition to lose you, and I cannot imagine how your brother would react.”

“Poorly.”

“To put it lightly, I suppose.” He sighs. “I was selfish in the moment, though, and I thought of how my own future here would seem, and…imagining it without you was dismal, to say the least.”

“…Oh.”

“You are engaging and quick and I enjoy our talks together, when we manage to have them.” Percy shrugs, and even that little bit of movement looks noble on him. “I believe we’d all be bereft without you, but I would rather not have to think of that moment again any time soon. If you understand my meaning.”

“I…yes. I do.”

Percy nods. “Good. Forgive me for getting too personal, please. I don’t have many attachments, so I will try not to burden you with this too often, but…you are my favorite. Please remember that, the next time you’re out there.”

 

* * *

 

(It is later, after a shoddy assassination attempt leaves him bound to his bed and unconscious that Vex’ahlia understands. She rests at his bedside, the letter confirming the death of the Briarwoods by the Inquisitor’s hand gripped firmly in her own. Percy shivers under his blanket, blood loss evident in the increased pallor of his face.

“You are _my_ favorite,” she murmurs, and leans forward to kiss his forehead, leaving the letter beside his bed. “Please remember that, the next time you keep secrets.”)


End file.
